The flourish of the pen—what a phantasmagoria. The pen is semen scattering the fields with fertility. It takes time for it to harvest and blossom. During times of difficulties, the pen is a stoic ornament, a virtuous shield masking the persona of the writer. The pen in meditation is a pen wanting to pounce on the prey. Pen is the architect of the universe of words. The pen is a ritual undertaking in art. Behind the pen lies the philosophical self. The pen crafts philosophical fiction. Ideas are a painting of words. The pen is shelter in the lonely, desert walk of life. The pen has made me walk in green pastures. The pen is a Hellenic Beast. The pen symbolizes the tin drum of Gunter Grass. The pen creates an ideal emotion and feeling. The pen is a carpenter with a chisel who fine tunes wood into furniture. The pen is loyal and obedient to God Jehovah Jesus. The pen has done the ritual of poetic music and has flowered the muse. The pen is a lover of art. Everything the pen does begins with a line and ends in a circle. What is a circle asks the pen? Pen replies to itself: ‘it is a joy of art in writing’. The pen has veil of feeling. The pen absorbs the past, lives in the present with ode of praise for the future. The pen is a weighing balance whose weight the pen does not know. Pen loves the semen wetting the earth. The pen is a sheer voice of eloquent poetry. The pen is a prolific artist of passion. What is written once cannot be taken back. The pen is a joy, a surprise brought out from the musings of the unconscious. The pen is making a curve, a passage of peace and refuge. The pen extracts dialogues from an underground valley. The pen is a hill atop a valley. The pen is a pilgrim in the journey of the desert. The pen can only contemplate eternity but can never calculate it. The pen meditates on ecstasy. The pen has never spent a night in a brothel. The pen is authorial and has got multiple selves. The pen is a Grecian Urn an architecture of aestheticism. The pen is green as grass and red as the sun. The feelings of the pen give a joyous shout. The pen is a flowing brook. The pen woos the writer to become an acrobat. The pen bears the charm of meaning. The pen has been through many disappointments but every time has woken up with the motto: ‘keep trying never give up’. The pen is wine drunk with joy. The pen is the feast of the eyes. The pen is a moody instrument of sorrow. The pen is a joy kindling the heart. The pen is in love with waltz of spring. The pen works wonder with the soul. The pen is an incantation praising God Jehovah Jesus. The pen adorns the paper with sweet memories.
Oh Lord Jehovah Jesus let this year be a harvest of green. The clouds lay like a beer belly. Morning woke up in streams of consciousness. Lights of the sky shattered in sound. Zeus rode his motorcycle in the sky. Sometimes words are forgotten as an evanescent dream. The woman symbolizes a valley and man symbolizes a hill. When will flowers blossom in my garden? The brook of the body is fond of making the poetry of love. She was a tender gazelle, a soul with a romantic heart. The Lord Jehovah Jesus said: I will give you the heaven’s dew and the earth’s bounty. I overflowed my spring in her tender orifice. Salvation you are the cross that was hung. Being is a totem of consciousness. Patience is a deaf ear. Dear Lord: ‘don’t remember my inequities and padlock me with curses. Beauty is a flowing river. Consciousness you’re the firmament of the mind. I long to live with a poetic heart. God is rich in mercy and abundant in love and passionate in grace to those who follow him. I have to live a life in extreme subjectivity with a mytho-poetic heart. I can’t forget the scars that have wounded my life. Feelings, they bellow like volcanoes. A dream is the most beautiful thing you can have in life. I hope all my dreams become poems of being achieved. Beauty, you are nobility of the soul. Life is not Camus: ‘Myth of the Sisyphus’…purposeless and burdensome; life with Christ is: in being with the heaven’s splendor and the earth’s well being. Time, you are river, and ode to joy. Loved ones of the family are like green grass that brings in a lot of joy. Forget the past, live the present in joy and anticipate the future with greater joy. The foundation of life is a realization that you are precious in God’s sight and not negation as spoken my existential philosophies. Life is God’s gift and living is the grace and mercy given by God. God is there to provide a cornucopia and there is no need to worry about life. Let your life be magic wand of passion. Literature is a passionate overflow of feeling, a surreal canvas, and a cubist art an incongruity between subjectivity and reality. Time is temporal as a bird in flight and time is eternal as the creator’s universe. Live on hope’s gates and then everything would be fine. The height of achievement should be an eagle strutting across the sky in highflying. If someone lets you down don’t get flurried: tame your ego to live with life’s inconstancies. Prejudice is the weakness of a shallow ego. Life has to swim with ups and downs. Don’t fight with guilt; release it as a bird in flight. Ego—you have to tame the beast within you. You can be repentant to the father just like the prodigal son. The soul is a depth of feeling. Poetry of life is the joy of existential living. Memory brings in all sorrows of the past ….ease them out of your mind just like conjuror doing a trick. Live life to the fullest ….as God has said in the psalms 23: ‘my cup overflows; surely goodness and mercy will follow my life and I will dwell in the house of the lord for ever’
When did the History of Literature begin? When man the nomad and hunter began to lead a settled life of cultivation, he had ample leisure time. We have to assume that the art of storytelling began than. It is hard to discriminate between religious-texts and fables. With the introduction of writing, storytelling took a new turn. Early day storytelling was filled with myth making. Examples of these are Greek and Roman legends who invented Gods and Goddesses as having supernatural qualities, and also very surprising is the fact they had an abundance of vices. The Gods and Goddesses of Greece and Rome were self indulgent sybarites and epicureans devoted to a life of pleasure. Along with the development of Storytelling, we find that ancient Greece contributed to the development of rhetorical devices and the most prominent of them being the metaphor and the simile. It is a mystery to know how these forms of literature have developed. Aristotle said: ‘the invention of the metaphor is the work of a genius’. How did these forms develop? They developed due to a collision between language and emotion. When language killed emotion, the stoic mind sought a catharsis in figures of speech. In the postmodern era, many of the tropes that are commonly used have become clichés.
The pen blossoms into gardens of fruits and flowers. Eternity is a poem waiting for the just. When will the Grace of God be a beautiful sunset? Time flows into a river of joy. Meaning of life is a poem waiting to be sung. Realizing a dream come true is an Aladdin in the making. Wishes are the heart of life. The seed that is sown on good soil yields much fruit. Life is a body of desires. Patience wait not for me for long. Art is the mutiny of the soul. I nourish my soil through writing. I don’t wish to face the pen of death. Fortune is a cat having nine lives. Existence, you are the for-it-self, a fountain of joy. Music is a mantra for the body and the soul. My flesh is immersed in iniquities and I ask God to give a strong spirit to battle with them. The meaning of life is a foundation of a rock of being in Christ. Catharsis—you are a bell, echoing the release of emotions of the soul. I slept on a meadow and made poetry to it. Poetry is the art of making love. Forget the bitterness and envy of the heart: live with hope in the present and anticipate joy in the future. Time can mend the scars of pain. The gates of knowing the self are open; open them with knowledge and sapience. Lord Jehovah Jesus bless the labor of my hands and rain down fruits of blessings. Love is ammunition for the soul. Every being is an emotional one carving a lyrical poem out of life. The cross has grace to pardon all sin. The leitmotif of God is found in: Goodness, Love, Grace, Mercy and redemption. Don’t quit your dream; carry your dream as a bouquet of flowers in your mind. My dream world is chocolate and my reality is tasting its sweetness. The fig tree was cursed by God for yielding no fruit; so also will be all trees that are barren. Blessings of God are a showering a rainfall. Social Media generates narcissism. The blood on the cross is salvation, a free gift for all. The meaning of life cannot be equated as a sign of the signifier and the signified. Freedom is given by God for acceptance or denial. Joy is a becoming in life. Passion is the fruit of poetry. It was Jesus who died and it was Christ who resurrected. Think like a Wizard, live like a King, and anticipate the future with accomplishments. Blessings are the tabernacle of God. Consciousness is the infinite galaxy of the mind. Art and Literature are rivers which have ended themselves in exhaustion. Oh Jehovah Jesus: give the resources to travel and write. Poetry of life—your foundation is meaning. Love is a fable that has lived and walked on this earth.
Lexical Species is a new figure of speech. Let’s examine how this happens. The words chosen are Health and Write. Both these words contain an inner word which habituates related meaning. Health contains (Heal) and Write contains (Rite)
Frills of tweets woke me up to a pleasant day. The day passed on without anything much happening in my life.
I am having no luck with windfalls after all the prayers I have made.
I have started reading Kierkegaard’s Philosophical Fragments, but I have reached only its preface.
I have coined some metonymies
A congregation of Pens met at the resort. A Pen was crowned as the monarch of writing. The fruit of democracy is love, peace and joy. The head resigned and the others followed. Many mouths of the organization spoiled it. The herd grazed in Green pastures. The flock swam as a poem in the sky. The muse is writing poetry. A chorus started howling. Oh Pen, yield thy art to me. The cards played a game of Rummy. The cup drank a lot of whisky. His body was covered with wool. Time moved on dials. She wore the ornament of beauty. The honey he carried in his purse is new. The bum roared with ecstasy. The flower palace blossomed with many hues. Feathers plucked the guitar. Devil is a serpent of all lies. I played on her fan and drove her to ecstasy. A dramaturge cheered the sky. Heaven’s persona: you are wonderful in my sight. Her body is a mystical island. His words were a tasty tongue. The soul is the music of emotion. Love is a soaring bird. I have tried to woo a tulip but it did not yield. Life has gone out of the body. The biceps are doing a workout.
In this essay, I would like to contextualize irony into various themes.
First of all I would like to trace the origins and etymology of irony. Irony originated in the Greek Language from Eiron the Greek underdog who outwitted his strong opponent. From Greek Irony came into Latin Ironia meaning dissimulation or feigned ignorance. From Latin irony became adapted in the English Language in the 16th century.
What are the types of irony? The types of irony are verbal irony (what is different from what is being said). An example is: how clean is the room meaning the room is very dirty. Then there comes dramatic irony, meaning, the audience knows more than the actors. For example, in the play Oedipus Rex, Rex does not know that he has married his mother and killed his father. Then again comes cosmic irony where Gods and Goddesses play with the fate of the humans in an undermining way. Then comes historical irony where the outcome is different from expectations. For example no one anticipated that the rise of Hitler would lead to the persecution of Jews. Then there is Socratic irony or pretended irony and it consists of posing rhetorical questions. Examples are: what is goodness? What is virtue? What is the soul and so on?
Now I would like to contextualize irony and examine it through the lens of literature, culture and philosophy.
What is irony’s place in Literature? Irony’s place in literature is highly possible as a conjecture. The place of irony in literature has been the decadence of religion and the growth of science and technology. Greek religion and culture portrayed Gods and Goddesses as being human and subject to fate and being far from perfect. It’s these legends through which the literature of irony has got root. Irony also grew up with existential philosophy which examines the quest for seeking the problems of the mind and body. The philosophy of nihilism was entirely an incubation of irony. Thus as Camus says we have to authenticate our existence to live a free life. What is the postmodern concept of irony? In postmodernism irony is a playfield of emotions. Woe, anxiety, angst, pessimism all are ingredients of human personality. Irony becomes an architect for the disintegration of personality.
What is irony’s place in culture? Irony occupies a primordial space in the literature of culture. Irony haunts the persona as being repeatedly human. The development of science and technology has changed the concept of human worth and dignity. The joy of life— the romanticization of life become imprisoned in vestiges of a culture wanting to prey on humans. Irony is marked by the troubled other, the troubled self, phobia and decadence. Irony began to question what is valued in culture.
What is irony’s worth in Philosophy? Irony became a weighing balance to weigh the worth of existence and essence. The questions of being and becoming became conjectural possibilities. Ambitious and lofty is irony’s plank on the knowledge of philosophy.
I was able to coin some new metonymies today. Here they are:
He caught a sea of fish. The All Seeing Eye and the Unfinished Pyramid is money. The walls of my brain are trembling with excitement. She wore a garden of veils around her face. I long to pierce the chains of bad luck. I love to have money floating in my purse like Mermaids. Let the seed that you birth, prosper into fruit. Make a rudder to steer the storm of adversity. May the Shepherd’s Crook strike a huge windfall. His limbs were stiff as a cadaver. The air was cold as ice. I am going to marry a Mermaid. What is the harm of counting the chicken before they are hatched? Jesus said: I AM THE WAY THE TRUTH AND THE LIFE; they are edible fruits for a good life. The winds of fortune are blowing favorably for me. The plot of the Novel is hackneyed and no longer relevant. Socrates you were murdered for Democracy. He was looking like an antique clown. Works of art hung on the wall. I will emerge out victorious from ashes and dust to the fair winds of recognition. The effort made by the tortoise was more valuable than the sloth of the hare. The Bridegroom Dresses the Church his bride. A dancer was crawling on the wall. His mind was polluted with lechery. Thought rises as a plateau and the sinks as a valley. My feelings have crossed the isles of imagination. I live with a creative heart. The leaves of dusk brighten with the coming of the sun. Mind is Reason and the Body is Passion.
Should a Writer use Sex in the Novel
For many writers, this is an ambivalent question. With the mammoth spread of pornography on the web, writing about sex is rather old fashioned. Yes, the writer has to draw a fine line between sex and smut. It is necessary to use flowery language while penning sex. Give a reign to the pen; let it become a flower on whose the intercourse is carried by the pouring of ink. Some examples are: My Dearest Beloved, your body is chiseled like wheat; your breasts are a bounty of grain; let me lip your mouth is ecstatic mirth; let me sprinkle your fountain with joy of passionate love; let’s bliss into the river of passionate love.
Morning serenaded as a song. I took two classes. I was able to coin some metonymies.
The fur wagged a lot. The ocean carried the passengers on a voyage. The mystery of the smiling lips is a Da Vincian master piece. Mt stomach was a paining gargoyle. Fornication makes me a carnal, guilty beast. The Swastika under the regime of Hitler became a demon of Jew-annihilation. Palestinians are a wounded race. He told a book of lies. I am going to get the feathers of fortune. Parrots gossiped in the cage. Then pastry was celestial to taste. Clove Cigarettes of Indonesia remind me of an aromatic metaphor. A Stethoscope examined me. Lust is cancer of the mind. History is eyes looking into the past and peeping into the future. Fairies danced in the sky. The occult reading was fake. Reading of numbers is a pack of lies. Eying the lines of the palm is a superstitious trifle. Rushdie ransacked the Quran when he wrote the Satanic Verses. Modi is the Prime Minister of a fascist democracy. The native of poetry is ornamental prose. An ornament of poetry was written on his grave. Lord, free me from the clutches of poverty. The eyes of the sky dazzled at night. Rain poured a rhythmic melody. The knife of the pen cut open the word. Shadows danced as wings on angels. I am a lover of fortune’s bank. Odyssey and the Iliad you have taken shape in me as writing. I long to attach the luck of Cinderella’s shoe. The sun gobbled the sky. Paris is the brothel of my mind and Philippines the brothel of my body. My soul dances with the joy of making words. Hope is an elastic spreading the joy of luck into the future. The Literature of Kerala is 100%. My body is a slave of Alcoholization. Poetic Petals danced in gay music. I am writing till my pen breaks. Sun Shine: penetrate my body with love. Let me resurrect in words. The book of life lives in Heaven. My fictional self has got gargantuan desires. The future is a harp waiting to give you the hand of luck. The brain is a perfect machine. To worship idols is to be dead in the spirit. Christ is the bridegroom waiting for the Bride. India does not give the freedom to read Heretic literature. Who will win the 2019 Prize for the Book? KFC is a tasty Colonel. Kashmir is a sick Union Territory of India. Media is a publishing machine, brain washing people through the press of industrialization. The spear of compromise can lead to sin. The egg laying crowed three times. The pen is a beastly creature come to life. God, replenish my purse to the brim. The Ego is an eagle in flight. The trunk is auspicious in getting things done. Beauty is the mirror of nature. Feelings are a carpet of emotion. God, help me win a financial victory. The faucet of the sky poured on to the earth. Don’t sabotage the body with addiction. I love to be a Mogul of words. Black wings crowed near me. Is it a sign that something good is going to happen in my life? Poetry of melody is the prose of rhythm. Marijuana you are the flower to experience Niravanic Ecstasy. Hitler made Germany into butcher nation. Let my words flower like the garden of autumn. Beef thigh hung on the hook as veils covered with blood. Diplomacy of a nation is a dove wanting peace. Joyssance, you are a delightful, passionate, sensual ecstasy. Providence, fund me as an enriching purse. From Utopia to Practopia, life is a garden to be lit with joy. 26 Alphabets are my bread and butter. Passion is an erotic body gifting her song of love in the heart. Chorus of birds are floating through the sky. I am delighted in writing a crowd of words. The windows of fortune are going to arrive for me. Adultery is a sinful game. Communism carried the cross of equality but Communism died, and there resurrected a capitalist juggernaut. I made her flower wet and she kissed me with gratitude. My wounds of being rejected are acute; I can’t seem to forget them. David the king was a Shepherd at heart.
September 26, 2019
Today was also an idle day as I did not have to do any work. I coined an imaginary word and here it is: ORIGINARYBINARYKINEMATORICORGANRY.
I thought deeply about irony as a figure of speech. Irony is a hint to show that nothing is perfectly alright in this world.
I was also able to coin some new Metonymies.
He poured a fountain. Birds chirped musically. The lilies of the field are Solomon’s Robes. The press is reading the Newspaper every day. Anthems floated in the air. While her brook overflowed, she whimpered in ecstasy. I am collecting bank notes. The river swam to the other side of the pool. He has a thick scalp of emotion. His mind is a burning ring of fire. While talking: he shot missiles at the opponent. He licked the poetry of words as a loving gesture. When will the winds of fortune blow favorably to my side? Luck is providence giving a gift. The cleaner broomed the wall. Reading of stars is often inaccurate. The singing lizard is a sign of good luck. Money, travel to me as a grasshopper. The gown was dark without light. A round face glistened in the night sky. Pick-up-women serenaded Jakarta’s night sky. Mother Teresa is an icon of charity. The needles are moving forward as musical rhythms. When will the bank of mine improve? Is the fortune that I seek found in a pen? Democracy elected him as the president. India won the match by 10 Wickets. To live life as poetry and art is beautiful. Words are ants in the giant of prose. Love life: throw caution to the winds. Fireworks of pleasure burst in my heart. Is the love for a woman an oedipal desire? Romance is the garden of flowers. The mouth paints kisses of petals. Lord, make the earth of desire come true. Pearls twinkled in the sky. Democracy you lose out on good candidates. Rainbow smiled at me. My thirst for knowledge and wisdom is extreme. He told a book of lies. I am going to get the feathers of fortune. Parrots gossiped in the cage. The pastry was celestial to taste. The clove cigarettes of Jakarta remind me of an aromatic metaphor.